


Hands-On Practice

by vintagelilacs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Doctor John Watson, M/M, Medical Kink, Prostate Examinations, Prostate Massage, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagelilacs/pseuds/vintagelilacs
Summary: Despite Sherlock’s insistence that John’s medical training could use more hands-on practice, John doubted that stroking his flatmate’s prostate until he got an orgasm would earn him much respect from his professors or clout in the medical field.





	Hands-On Practice

The torrent of rain provided an unremitting backdrop of white noise as John pored over his microbiology textbook. Across from him, Sherlock sat with a pensive expression, his quicksilver eyes narrowed as he stared intensely at some fixture existing only within his mind’s eye. If it weren’t for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, he could easily be mistaken for a marble-hewn statue. The subject of Sherlock’s concentration was known only to him, but John wouldn’t be surprised if he was cataloguing the types of tobacco ash used in the nineteenth century, or something equally peculiar and superfluous.

While Sherlock was prone to long bouts of meditative silence, he also had a tendency to break his silences with the most confusing observations or questions that left John struggling to follow his sequence of thought. 

“You're studying to be a doctor.” Sherlock's gaze wasn't even remotely in his direction, so John took a gamble and decided his flatmate was talking to him and not the skull seated on the mantelpiece. 

“Nice of you to notice,” John said wryly. “It's not like we've been flatmates for the past three terms.” 

“Your program doesn't focus much on the experiential side, does it?” 

John couldn't begin to imagine where Sherlock was headed with this. “We do dissections,” he began. They also did more hands-on activities in anatomy, microbiology, and pathology labs.

“Irrelevant,” Sherlock dismissed. “Handling a cadaver is hardly similar to treating a living patient.” 

John wasn’t sure what had spurred this lecture. “I s’pose.” 

“It's a competitive field.” 

“Also true.” 

Sherlock was silent for so long John was almost sure that was the end of it. “I can help you get ahead of the curve.” 

“Oh? And how do you plan on doing that? Writing my tests for me? Performing an experiment that will give me a photographic memory?” 

Sherlock’s garbled mumble was undetectable to human ears. 

“Er, what was that?” 

“I said a _prostate exam._ ” 

John blanched. Nothing could have prepared him for that response. He wondered if he’d misheard. Sherlock had never been known for ribaldry, and even consistently eschewed John’s inquiries about his dating and sex life. “What?” 

Sherlock's nose wrinkled the way it did whenever he had to waste breath on repeating himself. “A prostate exam. I do hope you know what it is.”

“I know what it is.” _I’m starting to wonder if you do._

“Excellent. Then we’ll begin.”

John hated that even after all this time he struggled to differentiate when Sherlock was being serious or having a lark. “No, no we will not begin.” 

“But you just agreed!” His ridiculously plump lower lip jutted out in a moue of annoyance. Sherlock’s pouting expression just made John want to kiss him more, which was not exactly on when you were two entirely platonic mates sharing a flat whilst attending university together. 

“I didn’t agree, Sherlock.” He sighed, sensing it was going to be a fairly lengthy argument after all. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s not something normal people do.”

“Normal people,” Sherlock scoffed. “Why do you care about _normal_ people?” He uttered the word as if it were a blaspheme. “This isn't something many other students will be able to boast of. You would impress your simple-minded professors.” 

“Somehow I doubt that.” 

“I'm due for a prostate exam.” 

John doubted that as well, given that Sherlock was in his twenties, and not his forties. Despite Sherlock’s claim of being a man of reason and logic, he was surprisingly difficult to reason with, and if he had it in his head that he, for some reason or another, needed a prostate exam, John had little hope of convincing him otherwise. 

“If you're not going to examine it for me,” he continued, “I'll have to do it myself.” 

John’s mouth felt as dry and arid as a desert. Was this something Sherlock had done before? Did he enjoy touching himself there? Images of Sherlock’s ridiculously long fingers probing at his perineum and entrance flashed unbidden through John’s mind. He’d never imagined Sherlock doing that. Alright, that was a blatant lie. He _had_ imagined it, but always as an indulgent fantasy. He’d never for one moment considered it was an actual possibility. 

Sherlock prattled on, seemingly unaware of the painful tightening John’s trousers were experiencing. “Of course you know how impatient I can occasionally get—” John snorted. “—and it's quite likely I'll injure myself if I self-perform the exam. Then I would need your help anyway to examine for tears or injury so you may as well put your doctorly expertise to work. If you don’t, any harm I endure will be on your conscience.”

“Fine,” John said, to shut up him if nothing else. John's voice sounded somewhat strangled to his own ears, and he wondered what Sherlock would be able to deduce from it. 

His flatmate's face brightened. “Excellent! I knew you'd see reason.” 

Oh, this wasn’t reason. It was pure insanity, and John was a madman for agreeing to it. 

“Alright then.” Sherlock clapped his hands together. “My room or yours?” 

“Huh?” 

“Unless you intend to examine me here?” Sherlock didn’t sound impressed. 

John hesitated. “Your room.” If they did this in John’s bedroom, he was fairly certain he’d never be able to stop thinking about it, and he could forget about ever having a decent night’s rest again. 

Sherlock grinned. “I assumed as much.” 

John waited until Sherlock had turned his back before discreetly adjusting his trousers. His gait was awkward as he trailed after Sherlock. He’d been in Sherlock’s bedroom before, but not often. Sherlock himself rarely seemed to venture inside it, and when he did it was seldom for the purpose of sleeping. 

“Er, why are you taking your shirt off?” 

“It’s standard,” Sherlock replied, calmly folding his dress shirt and laying it aside. 

John could admit prostate exams weren’t a subject he was especially knowledgeable about, but he was admittedly skeptical. Still, he didn’t care to press the issue. He was much more interested in watching the proceedings. 

Sherlock stripped out his clothes expediently, before sprawling out before him like a Greco-Roman god. 

John counted the vertebrae in Sherlock’s spine. Twenty-six. He fantasized kissing each one. His gaze dragged down, lingering on the divots above Sherlock’s arse, before focusing entirely on his pert bum. 

_Fuck._ There was really no hope of hindering his erection, but hopefully Sherlock would be too distracted to notice. 

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, the look on his face bordering on coy. “Alright, John?” 

Was he flirting? That was flirting. John wasn’t called “Three-Continents Watson” for nothing. He was experienced, but no amount of experience could prepare anyone for Sherlock Holmes. 

“Fine,” John husked. “I just, er, realized, I don’t have any…” 

Sherlock set a container of medical grade lubricant on the mattress, effectively cutting him off. 

“You just happened to have that lying around, did you?” 

“I'm prepared for every eventuality.” 

“I bet you are,” John muttered. There was no way Sherlock was actually concerned about his prostate. He’d either concocted this scheme as an easy way of getting sex without having to ask for it, or he was curious on a more scientific level. Either way, John wasn’t going to protest any further. Getting to act out one of his fantasies was reward enough. Sherlock's personal reasons were irrelevant in the end. 

“Do you have any gloves? Gloves as in the kind for your hands, not, you know.” John mimed tearing open a condom packet. 

Sherlock reached around to inspect John’s hands. “Your nails are trimmed. Don’t bother.” 

That definitely wasn’t proper protocol. Taking a deep breath, John coated his fingers with a generous amount of lube, before hesitating. Was he seriously about to do this to his best friend and flatmate? It definitely meant crossing several boundaries, and he wasn’t sure this was the sort of thing they should do without properly discussing first. Of course, he was probably overthinking it. Sherlock abhorred sentiment, and he’d probably delete this entire encounter from his Mind Palace in a few days. John was a different matter. He’d been in awe of Sherlock since the moment they met, and he’d fancied him romantically for almost as long. Forget being fair to Sherlock—was any of this fair to himself? 

“Anytime, John,” Sherlock huffed. 

Some of the tension drained from John's muscles. This was Sherlock he was dealing with. Snarky, infuriating, _familiar_ Sherlock. He reached forwards and pinched his bum. “Is that how you speak to your doctor?” 

A beat of silence. “I would appreciate it if you would hurry, _Doctor_ , as our appointment is short.” 

He swallowed heavily. “It Is? Why?” Did Sherlock have other experiments planned? That’s really all this was to him. Just another experiment. 

“The average time for prostate exams is five minutes.” Sherlock sounded annoyed, as if he thought John should already know this. 

“Five minutes, huh?” 

“Since you’re a beginner I won’t begrudge you for taking longer.” 

“How generous of you,” he said dryly. “Alright then. Here goes nothing then.” John pushed lightly on Sherlock’s back, and was surprised at how readily Sherlock complied. He spread his legs without needing to be asked and presented his arse without reservation. It was difficult reconciling the aloof and evasive genius with the wanton creature before him now. 

John laid his palms on each of Sherlock’s cheeks, admiring the contrast of his tanned skin against Sherlock’s pale flesh, before spreading his cheeks apart. He slowly circled Sherlock’s hole with a lubed finger, and repeated the motion until his external sphincter muscle relaxed.

“Alright, I’ve read it helps if you take a deep breath.” 

Sherlock made a noise like he was going to lend an obnoxious comment, but it broke off in a gasp as John plunged a finger inside. Christ, he was tight. John pulled the finger out and slowly inserted it back in, wiggling it around to loosen him. 

“A-add another one,” Sherlock gasped out. 

“I don’t think—”

“Please.” 

It was the 'please' that did it. John could count on one hand the number of times Sherlock had actually used the word. 

He carefully added a second finger. He could feel Sherlock’s hole twitch around the intruding digits. There was really no hope in preventing his own arousal now. The best he could hope for was that Sherlock would be too preoccupied to notice. 

He continued to go slow, to the point where Sherlock gave an impatient huff. “It’s located about two-to-three inches in,” he informed. 

“I know that,” John snapped. Yes, Sherlock was the genius of the two of them, but he was no idiot either. 

“It's small. And sensitive. Apply light pressure.” 

“I’m aware what the prostate is.” 

“Then why haven’t you found it ye—”

John dragged his fingers unerringly over the gland. It had a smooth, soft texture, but was still firm. He circled it lightly, applying varying amounts of pressure. 

Sherlock made a loud keening noise. He squirmed and writhed against the mattress, and John held his hip in place with his free hand to still him. 

_“Ngh.”_

__“What was that?” John asked innocently, not ceasing his ministrations._ _

__Sherlock lifted his head from the mattress, shooting him a glare. “Are there any abnormalities, Doctor?”_ _

__Embarrassingly, John felt his cock give a twitch. Sherlock always knew precisely what to say. It wasn’t the act of caring for someone that turned John on; that would get awkward fast as a doctor. Rather it was being able to take care of _Sherlock_. It was the feeling of being needed, of having the brilliant Sherlock Holmes rely on him, that made a flush of pleasure warm John’s body._ _

__“N-none.” John cleared his throat. “It’s not enlarged and there’s no hardness to it.” He remembered the comparison his textbook offered of the prostate being similar in size to a walnut. He stroked gently over it, triple-checking his estimation of the size. Sherlock let out a low moan. John quadruple-checked. One could never be too careful, after all._ _

__“Any tenderness?” he asked._ _

__It shouldn’t have been possible for Sherlock’s voice to be that low and deep. “It’s d-difficult to tell. Keep feeling it.”_ _

__John stroked his finger over it again, this time applying slightly firmer pressure than he had before._ _

__Sherlock gasped again, his back arching, before he very unsubtly ground his erection against the mattress._ _

__John pumped his fingers in and out of Sherlock’s hole. With Sherlock’s arse presented to him he was the picture of subservience. It was easy to imagine removing his fingers and replacing them with his cock. Would Sherlock be willing to take him? If John ordered him, would he fuck himself on his prick?_ _

__John’s cock was leaking so much they probably wouldn’t even need much more lube for him to properly fuck Sherlock. He released his grip on Sherlock’s hips and instead used his free hand to massage and knead his own clothed erection._ _

__“I’m going to add a third finger now,” he warned._ _

__“How come, Doctor?”_ _

__John’s cock gave another spurt of precome at the feigned confusion in Sherlock’s voice. “I’m doing this for your benefit," he invented. "We want to ensure your prostate is healthy and it’s easier to measure its size with three fingers.”_ _

__The noise Sherlock made in response could only be described as pornographic. He was under no delusions about what John was really doing. Without further deliberation, John added a third finger, and began to thrust them in and out._ _

__“You’ve stretched nicely around my fingers, Sherlock. You have nothing to worry about there.”_ _

__He groaned, thrusting his hips back. “And my prostate?”_ _

__“It’ll require a more thorough examination.” He alternated between stuffing Sherlock full with his fingers, and devoting his attention to milking the sensitive gland._ _

__John could tell from the way Sherlock’s hole clenched and tightened around his fingers that he was about to come. And sure enough, Sherlock spasmed mere seconds later. Sherlock’s forearms gave out under him, and he collapsed against his mattress. John removed his fingers, wiping the excess lube on Sherlock’s arse._ _

__“I reckon that was a fairly successful appointment, don’t you?”_ _

__Sherlock rolled over. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and his entire body lax with bliss. His contented gaze dropped to the obscene bulge in John’s trousers. “You’re aroused.”_ _

__John snorted. “Forget all that chemistry nonsense. You should be a professional detective.”_ _

__“I already am a detective.”_ _

__“Not a professional one.”_ _

__“You enjoy taking care of people,” Sherlock observed. “And you were more enthusiastic when I referred to you as _Doctor_.” As if to prove Sherlock’s point, John’s body gave an involuntary shudder. _ _

__“Yeah, well…” John didn’t actually have an intelligent reply. “You sure seemed to be enjoying yourself too.”_ _

__“Mm, but your technique needs some work.”_ _

__John rolled his eyes._ _

__“We can improve on it together, if you’d like. You're welcome to examine other parts of my body anytime.”_ _

__Wasn't that one hell of a line. John smothered a laugh, and resisted the urge to readjust his trousers. “That's awfully generous of you.”_ _

__“Yes, well, the more practice you get now, the further ahead you'll be of your competitors.”_ _

__“Classmates,” John corrected._ _

__Sherlock waved a dismissive hand._ _

__“You know, I can't help but feel this doctor-patient relationship is somewhat one-sided.”_ _

__Sherlock gave a nonchalant shrug. “If you ever require a checkup I'd be happy to oblige. I am of course more proficient than most bona fide doctors.”_ _

__“Of course,” John agreed._ _

__Sherlock looked up at him shyly. “Perhaps I could give you a checkup now,” he suggested, glancing none too discreetly at the bulge tenting John’s trousers._ _

__

__“Even though I didn’t make an appointment?”_ _

__Sherlock's lips twitched. “I’ll make an exception just this once.”_ _


End file.
